The Half Fare
by Mardy Lass
Summary: After TV series 3, so CONTAINS SPOILERS. Ten, without Martha now, finds himself on an ordinary train station, bumping into an ordinary boy. Or is he? Clocks, dads and trains: how much does the boy really know?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

_Really nervous about letting this one out..._

_Contains spoilers for TV series three, episodes 12 and 13 at least. _

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* * *

**ONE**

"Now children, stay in line!" Mrs Hudson shouted firmly, and the group of eight and nine year olds obediently shifted into their original lines.

"I hate museums," the girl right at the back whispered vehemently to her queuing partner.

They were so alike, really. Both eight years old, both appearing at the same orphanage on almost the same day. For some reason over the last three years this had made them gravitate toward each other – and stick together, too.

He looked at her.

"'S not so bad," he said quietly. "I think we're going to't Science Museum. You can see spaceships and stuff in there, Mike says."

"Mike's a liar," she pouted. "Don't listen to him, Dave, he's always trying to get you into trouble."

David simply looked at her, thinking. She flicked her long, brown hair over her shoulder and turned to him.

"I thought you said you were going to run away," she added gingerly.

"Been thinking about it," he said defensively.

"Well think on, you're not leaving me here by meself, Dave."

"But you're being taken away next month anyway," he pointed out morosely.

"Quietly now!" the tall, robust Mrs Hudson shouted, eyeing the end of the queue. _Why do I always get David Dale in my group?_ she wondered. _Shouldn't he be off bothering other teachers with his odd questions or something?_

David's queue shuffled forwards like soldiers after a ten-mile hike in heavy survival gear.

He suddenly realised that in all his five years in various children's homes, he had never felt so alone.

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The Doctor whistled to himself as he leaned back in the high chair, his feet up on the main console next to the Time Rotor, his arms up on the backrest. He was half listening to himself, half listening to the noises of a smoothly-functioning TARDIS.

He was immensely pleased with himself, it had to be said. In the three weeks since Martha Jones had realised her family should be her first priority, he had jumped at the chance of some quiet tinkering time and had, quite frankly, tinkered the arse out of it.

There was absolutely nothing he could see, or think of, that needed fixing. Save a rather obtuse chameleon circuit, but since that hadn't succumbed to his various bouts of tinkering, encouraging, pleading, kicking or slapping for a few hundred years anyway, it had long since been moved from his _To Do_ list to his _Just What Do You Want Me To Do With It?_ list.

So it was a very satisfied Time Lord that looked around the main control room, taking in the steady, quiet, _healthy_ hum of the Rotor, the pale orange lights, the whisper of power through the grating.

His beautiful ship. Working perfectly.

His eyes fell on the phone, Martha's phone, sitting on the main console. It was simply sitting, but he had a sudden feeling it was watching _him_, that it was poking out a virtual tongue and scoffing at his rather shallow feelings of achievement.

The Doctor looked around the main control room, in all its peace and stillness.

He suddenly realised that in all his time in this current regeneration, he had never felt so alone.

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The children were led across the city, away from the coaches, and Mrs Hudson kept them in line by barking orders and keeping a wary eye on the two dragging their feet at the back.

"Helena Stafford, keep up please," she snapped, and the girl made a half-hearted attempt to keep up. "And you, David Dale."

The children crossed the huge main road under heavy teacher escort, until they were stopped in a long line outside the Museum of Science and Industry.

"Are we seeing them spaceships now, miss?" David asked quickly, looking across the street to the entrance of the Air and Space Hall.

"No we are not, David Dale, and you'll keep quiet if you know what's good for you," she said professionally. "Now then children, keep a tight line please, follow and keep up. We have special tickets prepared for the lot of you."

David felt his feet root to the spot. Something in him snapped and he couldn't stop himself letting out a big huff.

Helena, his best and only friend of three years, looked at him.

"Come on," she said, "if we get left behind, we'll be for the high jump."

"I'm not going," he said tonelessly.

"What?" she gasped. "Not again, Dave! Don't be silly!"

"You go. I'm not going."

"Then where are _you_ going?" she whispered quickly. "Let me come. You'll only get into trouble without me."

"I will not!" he protested petulantly. "I hate Mrs Hudson, and I hate the Home. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm off."

He turned and began to walk off. Helena looked round at the few teachers counting heads quickly, then back at him.

"Dave!" she hissed. He stopped and looked at her.

"Do me this favour, Lena, please?" he asked quickly. "Tell 'em I'm int toilet or summat. Don't tell 'em I've made a run for it."

"But where are you going?" she demanded.

"Anywhere but here," he said firmly. She let her face register her discomfort.

"Oh fine! That's just like you, running off without saying goodbye," she managed, but it came out more upset than angry.

He ran up to her and hugged her quickly.

She nodded and pushed him away, and he turned and ran off.

Helena stared after him, then looked round at the line, hurrying to catch up. She heard teachers ahead, fussing over some other boy's trainers being covered in mud.

She looked back round, trying to find David Dale, about to run after him and throw caution to the wind, level-headedness to Hell, and her bag to the pavement, to run after him.

But he was already gone, lost in the crowd of people cluttering the street.

She bit her lip and turned back as she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Now then, Helena Stafford," Mrs Hudson said clearly. "Where's that David got to, eh?"

-------------------------------------------------

The Doctor opened his eyes with a start, something having woken him.

He sat up straight in the high chair across from the Time Rotor, blinking and rubbing his eyes, looking round quickly.

"Ow," he cried suddenly, indignantly, putting his hands to his head and clutching at it. "What's that all about?" he demanded, baffled. He waited a moment, analysing the pain in his head, but it had already started to recede. He let go of it and looked around the control room.

Everything was the same. Nothing appeared to have moved. He rubbed at his eyes and suddenly felt like a good stretch. He did so and then rubbed his face with both hands briskly, willing himself to throw off the sudden feeling of apathy.

He slid off the chair, rubbing his nose, walking up to the centre console and having a quick look at the monitor.

"Nothing? Nothing to make you want to jump in there and look?" he asked the room. He sniffed. "Right then. We'll just carry on until something _does_ grab your attention, eh?" he asked of the room, letting a hand slide down the surface of the Time Rotor's main console gently.

His hands slipped into his pockets and walked off, round to the galley.

A hundred thoughts of semi-plans and star-charts went through his head as he leant back against the counter and watched the kettle boiling, and then its switch flicked off. He sighed, making himself a particularly strong cup of tea and leaning back on the opposite counter again to drink it.

He managed to ignore the spare, unused cup, the aqua-marine one with over-sized yellow daises on it, for at least two minutes.

Finally he looked at it. It stared back at him from the tree mug, with its usual ceramic, omnipotent glare that told him just what it thought of being left unused. Of how much it missed the girl who had drunk from it and had got very mardy when he had once borrowed it.

He tutted.

"Don't start on _me_," he said petulantly. "It was _her_ who decided to stay on Earth. If you don't stop staring you can go out the door as I slow down. We're still in the vortex, you know, so if you've ever wondered what it's like to be a traveller in the fourth dimension, now's your chance to find out."

The mug appeared to think about this, but it had no pithy comeback. The Doctor sighed and turned his back on it resolutely.

"I think it's time I went somewhere," he said to himself sadly. "I'm having a face-off with Martha's mug, and still managing to feel vindicated."

He walked out of the galley and followed the crazy pathways through the giant ship to the control room. He walked over to the monitor and looked it over, one hand round his mug, the other in his pocket.

"Well," he said grandly, sniffing to himself. "Why don't we just -. Oh, hello," he said curiously, bending down to see the monitor more clearly. "Well, well, well, just what kind of interference are you?"

He studied the read-outs and information as it scrolled past his eyes, then straightened again.

"What do you think, missus?" he asked of thin air. "Shall we just follow it back to the source and fall into a whole heap of trouble? Or just stay in the vortex till I regenerate out of sheer self-pity and boredom?"

The lights and familiar hum of the TARDIS mocked him for a long few seconds.

He smiled at himself, then reached out and moved a few controls.

"Right then. Interference," he said. "Take me to your feeder."


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

The Doctor felt the familiar jolt of the TARDIS setting itself down and jumped out of his seat. He went to the monitor, leaning over and scrunching up his nose in an apparent effort to see it more clearly without having to get his glasses out. Needless to say, it didn't help.

"Still not pinpointing the source of that interference, eh?" he said, tutting to himself and shrugging. "Well then, perhaps I'll just have a wander, find out what it is, maybe get it turned off," he added thoughtfully. "Especially as it's interrupting your basic mapping and display systems."

He went to the pocket of his long brown coat, fishing inside for the key. He pulled it out, pausing to run his thumb over the surface, remembering a time when someone else had needed it to save the world.

He sniffed to himself and pushed it in the pocket of his brown trousers, turning and walking to the doors resolutely.

"Right then," he said cheerfully to himself, "let's see where you've dropped me this time." He opened the door and stepped out.

It was dark, and he let his eyes adjust before turning and locking the door carefully. He turned back to look around, seeing some kind of dark, humid room.

"Store room," he grinned to himself, his eyes acclimatising to the dark with a sudden rush. He took in the mops and buckets arranged precariously against walls and shelving, and then his eyes picked out the shape of the door. He walked over, pushing through it cautiously.

He walked out and found himself in a typical grey adjoining corridor. He turned to his left and saw the end door, with '_staff exit to concourse_' written in large red letters on the inside. He smiled and walked to it, finding it locked. A quick jimmy with his screwdriver and it opened for him to step out into a busy, bustling area.

He let his hands go into his pockets, looking around and grinning at the movement, the hustle and bustle, the hundreds of _humans_ simply going about daily life.

He looked up across the open area, spotting huge glass doors with six-foot numbers laminated on, and spotted the trains at the platforms beyond. He looked up, finding the four blue sign boards arranged in a cube, hanging from the high glass ceiling. The name on the top caught his eye and his grinned delightedly.

"Piccadilly!" he crowed, "_Ohhh_, we're in London!"

He bounced on his toes, looking round and taking it all in. His gaze landed on the glass door to the platform nearest him and his grin faded slowly.

He turned around in another circle slowly, taking more notice of the building, of the layout and sizes.

"This isn't right," he said curiously, noticing the name _Piccadilly_ clearly written on the route map pasted onto the sandwich board by the platform entrance. He didn't recognise the names of any of the stations thereon. He turned quickly, confused. "This isn't Piccadilly, is it?" he said, offended. "What've they done to Piccadilly?"

"Mister," a small voice said, and he turned. There was no-one there. "'Ey, mister," the voice said again. He looked down and found a thin, brown-haired child looking up at him. "Two things, mate," he said confidently.

"Excuse me?" he said, intrigued.

"I said, two things. One, you dropped this," the boy said, holding out his screwdriver. The Doctor peered at it, then pulled his hands from his pockets quickly, patting his jacket breast pocket and realising it was indeed his. "And this _is_ Piccadilly."

The Doctor looked at him, noticing the large eyes that stared at him with curiosity and innocence.

"Oh, well, thanks, er… You sure this is Piccadilly?" he asked, reaching out and taking his screwdriver back politely, but nevertheless quickly.

" 'Course. I know better'n anyone," he said miserably.

"What are you, a train station expert?" he said, mostly to himself.

"What are you, a complete tourist?" the boy said quickly.

"Traveller."

"Clumsy bloke?"

"Oi!" he protested, and the boy smiled cheekily.

"Just having you on. You should go careful round here, someone else might've nicked that."

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully, and the boy paused, looking him over with growing curiosity.

"Where've you been, mister?" he asked suddenly.

"Sorry?" he asked, confused.

"For what?"

"What?"

"What 'what'?" the boy asked.

"No, '_what_' what?" he asked, irritated.

"You said you were sorry. Sorry for what?" the boy said clearly. The Doctor just stared at him, then shook his head, indicating his tenuous grasp on the conversation.

"What was your question?" he asked wearily.

"I said, where have you been?" he asked slowly. "You not from round here, then?"

"Well obviously," he said heavily. They looked at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up.

"Cos you look like… Dunt matter, forget it," the boy said slowly, undecided.

"Oh well. Thanks for returning my screwdriver, son, but –"

"I'm not your son," the boy said hotly. "I'm not anyone's son."

"Oh. Right. Well anyway, thanks and all that, really should be getting –"

"Where you off to?" he asked suddenly.

"Why?"

"Just asking."

"Why?"

"Cos I'm nosy," he said instantly. The Doctor smiled, he couldn't help it.

"You know what? I really don't know _where_ I'm going," he said, deciding suddenly that he didn't care who saw his pretence at autopilot come crashing down, his smile fading like morning snow.

"Well if you're looking for't train stations, you'll have to start over there, mister," he said, turning and pointing at television monitors and chairs a good thirty feet to his right.

"Right. Thanks," he said. He moved to go, but then looked back at the boy. He was still watching him. "Don't you, er… have something to be getting on with?" he asked.

"Yeah," the boy said faintly. "I think I do." He paused, then tilted his head slowly, looking the Time Lord up and down slowly. "Don't you?"

The Doctor looked at him strangely, then up and around the concourse.

"Yes. _Although_, it would also be nice to find out what they've done to Piccadilly," the Doctor added to himself quietly.

He remembered the boy and looked down, but he had already disappeared.

He shrugged and turned to walk through the crowds, scanning the place to find an ATM. He noticed a few by the escalator and something called a Sainsbury's Express, and made for them, pulling out his screwdriver to borrow some immediate funds.

He helped himself to a wad of genuine year 2007 English pounds sterling, courtesy of Natwest Bank's supposedly hidden slush fund.

He wandered back to his entry point, noticing the sign for the ticket counter and joining the slight queue. He was still staring around, eyes wide, hands in pockets, when he heard someone who seemed to be calling to him.

He turned to see a bubbly young lady behind the red counter, smiling at him.

"This way, love, how can I help?" she smiled. He walked over quickly.

"Hello," he said cheerfully. "I wonder if you could tell me what's happened to this place," he said brightly. "Last time I was here, there were these colour-coded zones and stuff. And what's a Metrolink?" he asked, intrigued.

The girl giggled at him, flicking blonde hair back over her shoulder pleasantly.

"Oh love, you're a little far out of your way, aren't you?" she beamed, and he realised she had the same strange accent as the little boy had had.

"Am I?" he wondered.

"D'you mean the colour-coded zones for't Underground?" she asked him apologetically.

"Well, yes," he said, confused. "But I don't see the –"

"That's Piccadilly," she said patiently.

The Doctor paused, looking up and around quickly, spotting that exact name on at least half a dozen signs dotted around the huge ticket counters.

"Well where are we then?" he asked, thoroughly confused.

"Piccadilly," she said simply.

"Oh," he managed, confused. He looked around slowly. "Well then, I'm –"

"That'd be _Manchester_ Piccadilly, of course," she added with a smile.

"Oh! I _see_!" he cried, relieved. "Well, same-same," he shrugged. "Although… I'd love to know exactly why she brought me here… Oh!" he said suddenly, grinning at her. "You don't sell Yorkshire Tea, do you?"

"Not here, sir, no," she said slowly. "You'd have to go to't supermarket." She watched him digest this and cleared her throat. "So where are you trying to get to, love?" she asked helpfully, leaning over on the counter.

"Oh, well, er, I don't really know. Not _now_, anyway," he said, putting a hand up and scratching his head. "I'm looking for the origin of a sig-. Never mind," he said quickly.

"Well don't worry, I'm not even going to ask how you mistook the entire county of Lancashire for't London village, love," she grinned, "I'm just going to help you get the right ticket."

"Oh, well, you know how it is," he said, smiling brightly, "they both begin with L, after all."

She giggled at him. "So where would you like to go?"

"Oh! Hang on!" he said quickly, a thought striking him with momentum. "If we're in Manchester, does that mean we're near Jodrell Bank?" He paused. "That could be useful right now," he added to himself.

"The Jodrell Bank Space Observatory?" she asked, confused.

"Is there another Jodrell?" he asked innocently. "Have they still got that forty-two foot alt-azimuth dish watching the Crab Nebula? I could do with some equipment for analysing pulsars."

"Aw, you're a space nut," she smiled with a sympathetic nod.

"Apparently," he smiled winningly. She nodded.

"Well I can get you there, love, no trouble. Only most folks visiting tend to go for Blackpool, it's not far and he'd love it," she said.

The Doctor just looked at her.

"Hmm? Who would?" he asked, his eyes watching her avidly.

She leaned over the counter to see the space directly next to the Doctor's right elbow.

"_He_ would. Oh, he's the spitting image of you, pet. Aren't you, little man?" she gushed.

The Doctor suddenly had a bad feeling. He closed his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked down to his right.

He jumped, his suspicions confirmed: the little boy was back.

"Yeah, and we'll have two to Blackpool, ta," David Dale said cheerfully. "When's next train?"

"Just over ten minutes, young man," she winked, already turning to the computer next to her and tapping away.

"Now hold on a minute," the Doctor said quickly, "He's not with me."

"Oh _Dad!_" David moaned, "You _promised_ me a ride on the Wild Mouse!"

The woman just looked at the Doctor as his mouth worked but nothing came out. She smiled and tapped out the two tickets, tearing them off and sliding them under the glass front.

"There you go," she said. "That's one adult and one child, departing Piccadilly–." She paused, flicking a cheeky smile at the Doctor, before adding: "Sorry, _Manchester_ Piccadilly, at 11.10am. You'll have to change at Preston, then it gets in at the beach at about 12.45pm. Alright? That's eleven pound sixty for Dad, and five eighty for the little'un," she grinned. "Seventeen pound forty in all, gents."

The Doctor opened his mouth, but David's hand stole up onto the counter top.

"'S alright Dad," he said swiftly, "I'll get the tickets in, you can get the candy floss."

"Ooh, he's lovely, int he?" she grinned, taking the proffered twenty pound note from the boy.

"Apparently!" the Doctor said, managing to recover some speech ability, "Do you want him?"

She laughed, winking at David as she rang it through the till and handed him the change.

"Now don't forget, last train leaves Blackpool beach at 23.05 during't week. Have a nice time," she smiled at David. He grinned, taking the tickets and his change politely. The Doctor opened his mouth but wee David was quicker.

"Thank you," he said cheerfully. "Which platform is it on?" he asked quickly.

"Platform fourteen. You'll have to go through and then get the escalator up, then turn to yer right. Go down the steps and there you are," she beamed.

"Ta!" he grinned, then looked up at the Doctor. "Come on then Dad," he said happily, "we have to get to the platform in ten minutes."

The Doctor eyed him balefully as they walked away from the ticket counter. David was making for the platform entrance, but the Doctor grabbed his arm and pulled him gently to one side just inside the glass doorframe.

"Now, look here young man," he said sternly. David stared up at him, his face mirroring his own display of resolute purpose. The Doctor crouched down to meet his eyes, keeping a firm hold on his arm.

"Go on," David said bravely.

"I don't know who you are, or what you're playing at, but we are _not_ going to Blackpool. I have other things to do today, so I'm going to find out who you belong to and take you home," he said firmly.

"Perfect. I'll just wait here then, mister," he said helpfully.

"What?" he demanded stonily. "This isn't funny."

"Am I laughing?" the boy demanded petulantly. "Go on then, go and find out who I belong to. No-one else has been able to. You can try."

The Doctor studied him, releasing his arm slowly. He clasped his hands and thought about it.

"Where are your parents?" he asked reasonably.

"Don't have any."

"Family at all?"

"No."

"So where do you live?"

"Mister, it int really your business, is it?" he said, suddenly hotly. "I just needed a ticket and I couldn't get that without an adult. So ta very much, and see you later," he said quickly.

The Doctor reached out as the boy swung round, heading off. He grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to a stop without even getting up.

David turned back to him slowly.

"Right… I think we've got off on the wrong foot," the Time Lord admitted thoughtfully. "Why are you trying to get to Blackpool by yourself? Don't you know how dangerous that is?" He paused, seeing the boy's face drop slightly. "Who _are_ you?" he asked, baffled.

"I'm David," he said quietly. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor," he said. "Where do you live?"

"At the children's home. I'm not going back. I hate it," he added grumpily.

The Doctor sighed.

"I see," he nodded. "You think you're running away? To Blackpool?"

"Don't be daft," David scoffed, "They'd find me in Blackpool. But at least it gets me out of the city. I can think of a new plan after that."

"Darren," the Doctor sighed.

"_David_," he corrected immediately.

"Right. Look, I can't just let you run off to Blackpool," he said. "Or anywhere else. I have to take you back to the Home."

"You do and I'll tell them you kidnapped me," he hissed. The Doctor simply stared at him, and David felt the Time Lord's impenetrable eyes reduce his bravado to a whimper. "Please? Just pretend you haven't seen me," he begged.

The Doctor sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, I can't let you do this," he said. He wiped a hand over his face, then looked back at David. He was staring back at him, his face a study in anguish. "This is dangerous!" he protested. "You shouldn't just go grabbing the first adult you see, thinking that if you talk fast enough you can charm your way… past… everyone… with…" He slowed as he had a horrible thought, shaking his head slightly to clear it. "That was very well done, by the way. How did you know I'd be gob-smacked enough to be unable to stop you?"

"I didn't," David said, suddenly turning cheeky.

"Then why do it?" he said quickly.

"What did I have to lose? And anyway, you should never give up so easily," he shrugged.

The Doctor looked at him for a long minute. David just looked back at him, letting his hands full of tickets and change slide into his large jeans pockets.

The Doctor put a hand inside his jacket and pulled out his screwdriver.

"Right then, a quick squiz at you and your pertinents, and I should be able to find something to help us out here."

He raised the screwdriver and flicked it on. But something about it caught his eye and he brought it back down, listening and staring at it fixedly.

"A-ha!" he mused to himself. "So the interference is coming from this city! Not Jodrell," he added thoughtfully. "Well, that rules that out. Could still be useful to get over there and…" His voice trailed off as he watched the readings on the screwdriver. "Now that's a very weird signal… It's even counting down," he breathed. "Something… calling for the TARDIS, even… needing _her_," he said, confused.

He noticed a shadow fall over the blue light and flicked it off, looking up to find David leaning over eagerly.

"What's that?" he whispered, enthralled.

"Mine," he said simply, flicking it on again and running it across the space in front of David's forehead briskly. He looked at the end and tutted, shaking it. "Come on," he grumped at it irritably, moving to point it back at David. "Interference shouldn't be –"

But the boy reached out and grabbed it deftly.

"Cool, let me have a go," he said, turning the screwdriver round and running it past the Doctor's forehead.

The Doctor put a hand up to try and grab the boy's wrist but he was already pulling it away. He looked at the blue end and gasped.

"You're an alien!" he shrieked.

The Doctor reached out and grabbed the screwdriver. He flicked it off as he pushed it back into his inside pocket.

"Now look here –" he began.

"Aw no!" David hissed suddenly, throwing himself at the Doctor and clinging to him.

He stood quickly, trying to shake the boy off. But he grabbed onto him as a monkey to the biggest banana in the jungle, and the Gallifreyan was nearly tipped over.

"Look – what – oh – get – _oi_!" he protested.

"Sshhh!" David hissed. He popped his head round the Gallifreyan's arm quickly, his eyes wide as he stared at something behind him. "The matron's here! Hide me! _Please_!"

The Doctor peeled him off and deposited him on the ground tersely.

"It's been fun," he said shortly, annoyed. "But it's time for you to get home, Declan."

"_David_!" he protested. "Fine! Go then! Leave me to it, like everyone else! I don't care!" he shouted angrily, backing away. "Not when I've got _this_!"

He waved the screwdriver at the Doctor, then turned and ran for the fourteenth platform.

The Doctor tutted like it was all cosmically unjust.

And then he grinned and ran after him.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

The Doctor walked back into the train carriage, sitting down opposite the boy and placing the two purchased cups of tea on the table between them.

"There," he said grumpily. "They didn't have any fizzy drinks."

"Is it tea?" he asked, sitting up and pulling off the plastic lid. "Oh. Cool," he said happily, finding that that was exactly what it was.

"I thought kids your age didn't like normal stuff like tea," he grunted, putting his hand out and wiggling his fingers at the boy.

He looked at his hand, then at him, and sighed. He pulled out the screwdriver and slapped it into the Gallifreyan's palm with a huff.

"_Thank_ you," he said pointedly. "My, my, you _are_ a grumpy little short-arse," he said down his nose at him. "You need more Coke, that'll perk you up a bit."

"Naw, you just want a bit of tea. I were sick for a week once wi' the flu – honestly mate, it were a real full-on, proper head-cold. Thought I were dying. But the matron gave me tea and that soon sorted me out," he said cheerfully.

The Doctor simply studied him, tucking the instrument back in his inside pocket.

"Darryl?" he asked suddenly.

"_David_," he corrected immediately.

"Sorry. Look, you're going to have to explain a few things," he said slowly. "And then when this train stops, we'll have to decide which way we go."

David sat back and looked at him.

"Alright then mister, it's like this," he said, folding his arms over his chest resolutely. "You get to ask me all you want, but then _I_ get to ask _you_ stuff. Deal?" he asked.

The Doctor battled against a small smile. His straight face won. For the moment.

"Deal," he allowed curiously.

"Right. Go on then."

"Ok," he said, leaning back and undoing the buttons on his brown suit jacket slowly, thinking. "What's your full name and why are you in a children's home?"

"Are you daft?" he asked slowly.

"Was that one of your questions?"

"Was that _yours_?"

"Answer the question," he said, amused.

David sighed.

"Alright, seeing as how I were a bit mean before," he muttered. He looked at the tea. "Does this have sugar?"

"No."

"Good. I don't have sugar."

The Doctor waited, but nothing seemed forthcoming. "Well?"

"Oh alright," he heaved. "Me name's David Dale. The matron called me David after that bloke from '_Only Fools and Horses_' on telly, but I were called Dale after the street they found me in. I were wandering about, they said. Just old enough to walk by meself."

"How did you get there?" the Doctor asked stonily.

"I don't know. I were too small. They put me in the nearest hospital, so the matron up at the Home says. I were there for a bit, then moved to another one. Just about every summer they move me on."

"Why?" he asked, leaning forward.

"Don't know," he said lightly.

"Really?" he said heavily, and the small boy looked up at him.

"It's cos no-one likes me, alright?" he said testily. The Doctor blinked.

"What do you mean, no-one likes you?" he asked. "What kind of excuse is that for –"

"Everyone says I'm weird," he snapped, and the Doctor felt his jaw stick out. The Time Lord took a slow, deep breath, excising the sudden need to jump to the boy's defence. "And then… And then every summer there's just some good reason why I'm moved on. I don't know why."

"And you never just ask?"

"I do. But no-one ever listens," he said, turning despondent. "I think… I think you're the only person who's ever asked me questions just cos he wants to know, not cos it's his job," he added slowly.

The Doctor watched him for a long moment.

"What about your friends?" he asked gently. "Must be hard to keep getting moved away from them?"

"I've only got one," he said quietly. "Helena. She were at the home I were put into when I were five. She'd just arrived too. We played alright together, they said, so they've kept us together for't past three years. But next month they're sending her to Stafford," he said morosely.

"Why?" he asked softly.

"Not sure. But that's where she were found, Stafford," he said. "Sounds like they've found her a mam and dad. So they're taking her there to try 'em out, maybe."

"Dennis?"

"_David_," he sighed.

"Right, sorry," he said quickly, annoyed with himself. "I'm sorry about everything that's happened to you."

"Yeah right. What do you care?" he snorted to himself. "Can't even get me name right."

"Hey," he said softly. The boy looked at him, saw his eyes staring back at him with the same, anguished longing in there. "All my family are gone. All of them. I don't have anyone either."

"All of your _alien family_, right?" he whispered. He looked around the train carriage, making sure no-one was actually listening. "You're an alien, I saw it on that – that torch thing!" he hissed suddenly.

"Yeah, um, about that," he said quickly, sniffing, but David would not be stopped.

"Where did you get it? It's cool! How did I read it? Where are _you_ from?" he demanded excitedly. "Do you have a spaceship? Is it really big? Are there more people like you on it?"

The Doctor held his hands up, waving at him for quiet, and the boy closed his mouth quickly.

"Donald –"

"_David_!" he hissed.

"Sorry. Look, drink your tea and stop thinking weird things. I'm just an engineer, that's all," he said simply, shrugging. "That screwdriver was a gift. From another engineer. And as for you reading it, I don't know. I've never known anyone to read it without knowing what it was. Even Martha had trouble until I told her how to key into the –"

"Who's Martha?" he asked immediately.

"She's my friend," he said easily.

"Your _friend_?" David teased, waggling his eyebrows at him knowingly.

"Yeah. You know, a friend," he shrugged, frowning. David giggled.

"She's your friend, and she's a girl," he pointed out, grinning ear to ear. It suddenly struck the Doctor that he'd seen that grin before, but couldn't place where.

"Well, yes," he shrugged again, mystified as to where it was going.

"Your girlfriend," he concluded.

"She's not my –"

"Is she really cool, like you?" he interrupted eagerly.

The Doctor simply lifted his eyebrows at him, completely non-plussed.

"_She_ is, yes," he said cautiously.

"What does she do? She's a doctor too, right?" he asked avidly.

"Well, again, yes –"

"Is that where you met her, at a hospital?"

"Actually, yes I did, which is strange cos we don't actually –"

"Cool! That must be great, working in the same –"

"Dylan –"

"_David_!" he cried.

"Sorry. Look, calm down. Drink your tea," he said calmly.

David eyed him, then grinned slyly and picked up his paper cup, sipping it slowly.

The Doctor sat back, folded his arms, and watched him speculatively. The boy drank the tea as if he had all the time in the world, his wide, brown eyes staring up at the Time Lord. They watched each other for a long, long few minutes.

Eventually David put the cup down and sat back, thinking.

"Alright then, my turn," he said confidently.

"Fair enough."

"Look… mister," he said quietly. The Doctor lifted his chin slightly, watching him still. "It's just… Don't you think it's weird?" he asked suddenly.

"What is?" the Doctor asked.

"Well… Do you remember the lady at the train station?" he said. The Doctor nodded. "She said I looked like you. And she's a bit right, I think."

"Go on," he said, a trace of a smile winning time on his lips.

"Well… I've only just met you. Just a few hours, really. But… When I saw you int train station, before, it were like… I'd seen you before. I knew you, kinda. And I saw your blue torch thing ont floor, so I picked it up. It were weird, like it were buzzing," he said.

"Well?"

"And, well… I don't talk to people," he said, suddenly shy. "I don't like 'em. But… But I like to talk to you," he said quietly. He opened his mouth but didn't know what else to say.

"What bothers me is the _why_," the Doctor breathed, pre-occupied. David just looked back at him, worried. "Why the interference led me to arrive at _that_ station. Why you're trying to run away. And why you knew you'd get away with inviting yourself into my day. It's the kind of thing I would do. _Well_," he stressed, looking out of the window at the fast-moving trees, "it's the kind of thing I _have_ done, many times," he admitted quietly.

He huffed, then put his hand up, pinching at the bridge of his nose sharply.

"There's just something here that I'm missing," he said testily to himself. "Something I'm just not seeing."

"Like what?"

"Like… It's like… Ok," he sighed at the small boy, letting his hand drop. "It's like asking someone why they can't see the connection between cameras and Mars, cos to you –"

"Is it cos Mars has a mountain called Olympus, like the camera people?" he asked innocently. The Doctor simply stared at him. "Why are we so alike?" David blurted suddenly.

"I really don't know," he admitted awkwardly, biting the inside of his lip. He hoped his face was not showing how awful a thought he'd just had on that very subject.

But to his horror, David voiced it for him in a small, worrying voice:

"You don't think that – that you might be – like – you might actually be my dad?"


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

"No," the Doctor replied gently, pushing the really very _good_ argument for himself actually being wrong from his mind with a huge shove.

"You sure?" he asked gamely.

"Sorry."

"Yeah."

"Really."

"That's alright," David sighed, turning to look out of the window deliberately. "Not your fault."

The Doctor watched him, taking in his determined little face as he leaned into the seat with grim enthusiasm.

_Poor little lad,_ he found himself thinking.

He pulled the screwdriver out again, turning it in his fingers slowly for show. David looked over at the noise of it clanking slightly between his fingers as it moved. He watched it, his gaze drawn to the leisurely spinning instrument.

The Doctor stopped it and flicked it on, watching it and waiting for David to lean forward and stare at it too.

"Cool," he whispered. The Doctor couldn't help smiling, his diversion clearly a success.

"I know," he said with much satisfaction.

David watched him study the blue light, noticing the Time Lord's smile fade with realisation.

"That's _not_ so cool though," he said slowly.

"What?" David asked, leaning over and looking at it more closely. "What does 'forty-two' mean?"

The Doctor flicked his gaze up at him, then back at the instrument.

"It's a measurement. Seems to be of time," he said, confused. "But… it's weird."

"Days?" David hazarded.

"Hmm. Don't think so," he said uncertainly.

"Well you don't sound too sure," he scoffed. "Here, give it me," he said suddenly, taking it off him and looking at it. The Doctor smiled, folding his arms slowly.

"Go ahead then. Tell me what it means," he said indulgently, prepared to be amused.

"It's hours, that," David said suddenly. "Yeah, hours, I reckon. And it's not _at_ forty-two, that number were what it were counting down _from_, mate."

"Really?" he grinned.

"I reckon. What you need to do," he said professionally, handing it back to the Gallifreyan, "is find out how much of them forty-two hours is left, and what happens when it reaches zero." He paused, thinking. "Perhaps it like a… big thing. Like… needs stopping 'fore it causes all kinds of mess," he said with a firm nod.

"Studied a lot of temporal cause-and-effect, have you?" he teased.

David nodded seriously. "Watched a lot of telly," he said professionally. The Doctor laughed.

"Well obviously whatever you've been watching didn't cover quantum-level coding," he said dryly. "That signal – the counting down from forty-two to zero – is wrapped in a very bizarre quantum stream, almost like a ticker-tape message. This is what's causing the interference. That interference is creating a low-level masking field which is stopping my screwdriver from scanning you, and picking up background information that it normally processes much like the way you go through tea."

"Oh. Well… maybe there's summat else int way, too. Like… you turn the telly off cos you think it's making a funny noise, and cos it's off you realise the sound's coming from the kettle cos it's already boiled."

The Doctor blinked. "This something else," the Doctor prompted, interested, "what do you think it could be?"

"A black hole," the boy grinned eagerly. "Or… a giant great big hole int Earth, going right down to the middle, making special stuff come up and get out."

"No, that's in Cardiff," the Doctor chuckled. David's eyes widened.

"Seriously mate?"

"No, I'm joking," he lied. David shook his head.

"Well I don't know what kinda spaceman you are," he said with a smile. "I thought you lot were supposed to know everything."

"Maybe I _did_ know everything, I just forgot it cos I'm impossibly old," he teased.

"Yeah, maybe," David said slyly. Then his face fell. "Maybe you don't know any more than me," he added despondently. "Maybe no-one does."

The Doctor's smile faded slightly. He decided to try again with both his smile and his attempt at diversion._ For some reason I'd rather he wasn't so bitter at such a young age. No-one deserves to be._

"I was tracing that interference when you kidnapped me," he said.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said slowly, but the Gallifreyan could sense great wheels turning somewhere behind the small boy's eyes. "Is it really important like?"

"Absolutely. That interference is not natural. It led me here, and not by accident. I just hope I can find out why."

David looked at him, surprised.

"You don't know why you're here?"

"Rarely do these days, being on my own," he said to himself, and David studied his face.

"Yeah," he said quietly, and the Doctor looked at his little face, full of understanding. "See? We'd have proper fun together if you – if you were – you know, my da–"

"Which I'm not," he said hurriedly.

"Sure?"

"Quite."

"You don't think maybe –"

"No."

"You know, being off and on this planet all the time and stuff, maybe –"

"No."

"Cos you know, sometimes men do things and later they find out the hard w-"

"No."

"Earth-holiday girlfriend?" he said hopefully.

"No."

"Ever got drunk?"

"Not on this ball," he scoffed.

"Oh," David said flatly. "I get it."

He sighed and looked back out of the window, despondent again. The Doctor pocketed the screwdriver securely.

"Desmond?" he asked thoughtfully.

"_David_," he sighed, putting a hand up and rubbing his eye.

"Yeah, sorry," he tutted, angry with himself. He opened his mouth and stopped short. "Who did you say gave you that name?" he asked suddenly.

"Why?" he asked miserably, looking over at him.

"Because it's just about the only name in the universe that I can't remember," he said. "Well no – I _can_ remember it, but for some reason I just cannot attach it to you. It's wrong. It's not your real n–" He slapped his mouth shut, his teeth clicking audibly. "It's not your real name!"

"How do you know that?" he asked, intrigued.

"Trust me," he said, off-hand. David grinned suddenly.

"Cos you're a doctor?" he joked.

"Oh I'm more than that," he grinned, "I'm _the_ Doctor. And there may be a possibility that I could do more than just set you back at that Home." He thought about it, his grin widening. "I've got a countdown to unravel, but I don't see why we can't do a little research into finding you somewhere while I'm at it."

"Do you think –"

"I think we can kill two birds with one stone, here," he said abruptly. "Someone, or something, wanted me to be on that station platform," he said knowingly. "Someone who knows a lot more about the gear I carry than is healthy for me, _and_ is quite handy with the ol' quantum signal trickery."

"So?"

"So I need to find out why someone's given you a false name, and at the same time I can –"

"How?" he gasped, prepared to be impressed.

"We need some records."

"And where are they?" he asked innocently.

"Well, we're going to have to go back to –"

"No! I'm not going!" he said suddenly, jumping up from his seat.

"Wait!" the Doctor called, reaching for him. "I'm not talking about the Home!"

But he was already ducking under his hand. He dodged and ran down the carriage, out into the next one.

The Doctor ran after him. He stopped in the next carriage, looking slowly around the seats.

He looked up and down but couldn't see him. He huffed and muttered something under his breath, standing in the carriage, looking left and right at the passengers watching him with interest.

He carried on walking through the carriage slowly, watching every passenger until he reached the opposite end.

So he didn't see the boy crouched under the table between the seats.

David watched the Doctor's Converse stop next to him, held his breath as they started walking again.

As the Doctor cautiously walked on down the carriage, David counted to fifty silently. He snaked his way out from under the table and into the empty seat, then kneeled up and looked over the top, watching the Doctor disappear into the next car.

He slid off the seat and ran back to his carriage.


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

The Doctor reached the shop in coach C and stopped, looking round slowly. He walked up to the counter and waited impatiently while a man stood deciding whether to get a normal coffee or an espresso.

"Excuse me," the Doctor interrupted irritably, and the man looked at him, tutting. "Shouldn't drink coffee anyway, makes you ratty," he said dismissively, leaning over the counter across him to insert himself between him and the serving girl. She stood back one, watching him, surprised. "Have you seen a small boy in here?" he demanded.

"Loads," she shrugged. "Why?"

"Cos I've lost one!" he cried shortly. "Eight years old, brown hair, wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans?" he rattled off.

"Oh! Right, sorry, no," she said quickly, prepared to be more accommodating. "Your son, is he?"

"I'm looking after him," he snapped. "Do you have any idea where he might be hiding?"

"Hiding?"

"Kids' games!" he said quickly.

"Ah, I see," she said, relaxing and smiling.

"No, you don't," the Doctor interrupted curtly. "Ideas?"

"Er… well, the normal carriages aren't good for hiding in, but… the store rooms?" she hazarded, her black hair flopping over her eyes. She shook it from her view. "I'll get a steward, he can open the –"

"No need!" the Doctor said tersely, turning from the counter. "If he shows up here you'd better let the steward know!" And with that he dashed from the carriage.

The girl looked back at the customer, and they shared a look of bewilderment.

"On second thoughts," he said suddenly, "I'll have a tea."

-------------------------------------------------

David pulled the screwdriver from his pocket and looked at it thoughtfully.

_I've seen him use it,_ he thought. _Can't be that hard to make it work._

He ran his small fingers over the bumps and markings on the outside, realising they were buttons. He puzzled over it for a long time before depressing the shallow round button on the side.

The instrument lit up blue and buzzed in his hand. He jumped, a little surprised, then just watched it. He heard a click and let go of the button, lifting his head to find the click had actually come from the door in front of him, not the thing in his hand.

He put his other hand up and tried the door handle. It opened easily and he grinned, looking back at the screwdriver.

"Cool!" he grinned, tossing the screwdriver up so that it spun in the air. He caught it and shoved it in his jeans pocket, before walking through the door and closing it quietly behind him.

A store room. A dark, stuffy store room.

"It'll do. Preston's only thirty minutes," he said, pleased. "Then I hope I can…"

He sighed, feeling his way to some packing crates and jumping on one to sit comfortably.

"Typical," he tutted to himself, feeling the crate and himself sway with the slight rock of the train. "I finally find someone as can help me work me out, and he turns out to be an alien."

He kicked his heels against the crate slowly, then suddenly had a horrible thought.

"So… if he really _is_ me dad, that makes me…"

He slapped his hands over his eyes and let himself fall back to the crate.

He removed his hands to look up as the ceiling.

"Well, that explains a few things," he conceded philosophically.

-------------------------------------------------

The Doctor sat on the uncomfortable carriage seat again, looking at the table. His eyes saw nothing, his mind whirling with so many unanswered questions.

_Why the Rassilon he thinks I'm his dad I don't know!_ he blustered away to himself, attempting to be bemused.

But something kicked in, some tiny part of his subconscious began to run through numbers and dates, Earth people and possible opportunities, time loops and unco-operative screwdrivers. And then there was the sobering memory of the boy's face, so much like his own.

_Well, one way or another, I__ can't leave him out here by himself. He's all alone. He has no-one. Find him, drag him back to the TARDIS, a quick positive ID on his species and perhaps even find his real parents, if they're still around…_

He drew in a deep breath and pushed it all from his mind, shaking his head slightly.

_Signal. The countdown signal is my priority. What happens when it reaches zero? And why was it started at forty-two?_

He sighed, resting his elbows on the table, letting his chin sink into his hands.

He closed his eyes, went back to the moment he'd first met the small boy, and replayed it slowly in his mind.

-------------------------------------------------

The train gave a jolt and the Doctor opened his eyes, still mystified. He threw himself out of the seat and ran out of the carriage, twisting and pushing through all the passengers, running down the few steps to the platform, looking around quickly.

He ran to a lamppost twenty feet away, scaling the bottom and looking out.

"Sir!" a loud voice said.

"Just wait!" he snapped, searching the crowds of departing passengers for the small boy – not an easy task.

"Sir, I'll have to ask you to come down," the voice said.

He looked down and spotted two policemen watching him.

"Ah! Just the men!" he said quickly, jumping down. "I've lost a small boy," he said, grabbing one policeman by the arm.

"Alright sir, calm down," he said professionally, peeling his hand off him slowly. "Tell us –"

"He's eight years old, about this high," he interrupted, lifting his palm out flat to demonstrate his height. "He's got brown hair –"

"What's his name, sir?" the other policeman said. "We can just call for him on the PA system."

"Oh, right," he said, rolling his eyes at himself. "Dale."

"Dale who?"

"No, Darren Dale," he said irritably. "No, wait – Darryl. No – Darragh. No – gah!" he spat, slapping a hand to his eyes. "Why can't I – oh!" he cried, making the policeman jump. "David! David Dale!" he shouted.

"David Dale? And you're _Mr_ Dale, are you?" he asked curiously.

"No! Mr Smith," he said.

"Right," the other policeman said, and the two officers shared a glance.

The slightly shorter policeman backed away a few steps, putting his fingers to his radio, up near his shoulder. He was talking into it quietly as the taller one folded his arms slowly.

"How do you know the boy, sir?" he asked the Doctor.

"Oh come on!" he cried, annoyed. "Just find him!"

"Yes sir, we will do, sir. Just tell us how you know him."

"We were on the train together!" the Doctor hissed, turning in a circle and looking around wildly.

"This David Dale," the policeman said loudly. "Would he be from the children's home, near –"

"Yes!" he said quickly. "And he's out here all by himself! We have to find him!" he said desperately.

"Sir, we have reason to believe David Dale is with you against his will," he said loudly, as the shorter officer nudged him from behind. He turned and looked at him, nodding. He turned back to the Doctor, who was still searching the crowd.

"What? Well, alright, so he ran away, but look –"

"No, _you_ look," he said forcefully. "Sir, we're going to have to ask you to come with us."

Suddenly an ear-splitting shriek rang out.

Shrill and piercing, it caused the entire crowd on the platform to look for the source. They found a rather wide policeman lifting up a small boy under his arms.

"Oi!" the Doctor shouted, "Be careful with him!"

He started pushing his way through the crowd, but felt a hand on his arm.

"Sir, you'll have to come with us," the taller policeman said.

"And him?" he asked.

"And young Mr Dale, sir, yes," he said, annoyed.

"Fine," the Doctor said grimly, letting the policeman lead him over to one side of the platform. The Doctor simply waited as the third policeman joined them, carrying a struggling David Dale in his hands.

"'Ey! Just pack it in!" the policeman shouted, receiving a kick to his chest from the small boy.

"Put me down!" he yelled angrily. "I'm not going back! I'm not!"

"Douglas!" the Doctor shouted unexpectedly, and the boy paused. He twisted and looked over at the Gallifreyan.

"How many times, mate! It's _David_!" he cried. Then he paused. "Aw no. They got you, too?" he asked wildly. The Doctor smiled, he couldn't help it.

"You don't kick policemen, mate," he said warningly.

"Alright," the boy sighed, huffing and ceasing his struggle to get free. "You," he said stiffly to the officer, "put me down."

"_Please_," the Doctor stressed.

"Please," David added stubbornly.

The officers flicked their gazes from the boy to the Time Lord to each other, then the stocky officer put David down slowly.

"No running off," the officer said, pointing at him warningly. "And that goes for you, too," he said, eyeing the Doctor.

"We won't," David said resignedly. He turned and looked up at the Doctor. "So then," he said grandly, folding his arms and pinning him with an unsettling stare, "How do we talk our way out of this one?"


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

David was frog-marched into the children's home, the two large policemen looking slightly annoyed as they turned him loose in the social room.

He shuffled forwards, taking in all the children watching him with looks of amusement or contempt.

"David!" Helena shouted, running from the other side of the large play room.

He turned to see her, grinning as she ran into him full-tilt, hugging him tightly. He grabbed onto her, relieved.

"Hey, Lena," he said sadly. "They caught us."

"Us?" she asked, pulling away to look at him. "Are you right? What's gone on?" she demanded excitedly.

He looked back at the policemen, chatting to the matron on duty, and walked away slowly, Helena Stafford following.

"I met some strange bloke ont train platform," he said with a smile. "We were doing alright, got as far as Preston, then they caught us coming off the train."

"What?" she gasped, her little hands going to her mouth. "What bloke? You idiot! That's really dangerous!" she admonished, slapping his arm suddenly. He just chuckled.

"Naw, he were alright. Bought me tea. And then…" His smile faded. "And then I ran away. I left him and ran for it."

"Why?" she asked.

"I… I thought he were going to bring me back here," he said quietly, looking at his feet. "But… I think he could find out stuff, Lena," he said, looking up again.

"What stuff?"

"Like me parents. He's clever, Lena, _really _clever, and he knows stuff."

"I still think it sounds silly."

"Look, wait till lights-out tonight, and I'll tell you everything," he said calmly. She just studied his face for a long moment.

"Alright. But you'd best not be lying to me, Dave, or I'll have _your_ lights out," she warned.

He smiled. "Yeah, I know."

-------------------------------------------------

"You have to understand, Mr Smith, that kidnapping a small boy is a very serious offence," the Detective Inspector said.

He was sitting opposite the Time Lord in the small interview room, watching the odd man nod and look around aimlessly.

"Yes, I should imagine it is," the Doctor replied indignantly. "And when it happens so often, too." He paused, then his face changed. "Wait, you don't think –"

"Mr Smith, we have CCTV footage of you leaving Piccadilly with David Dale. You were chasing him toward the platform," he said heavily.

"_He_ invited him_self_!" he cried, surprised. "Ask the girl behind the counter! I was just trying to get information and he literally came out of nowhere, barging in and buying himself a ticket – _and_ mine!"

"Really," the DI said, uninterested, but he appeared to make some kind of scribbled note of this on a small pad under his right hand.

"Yes really!" the Doctor snapped angrily. "Go ask him yourself!"

"He's been sent home," he said meaningfully.

"You mean he's been sent to _the_ Home," the Doctor snapped. "He doesn't belong there. Perhaps if you tried tracing his family as hard as you're trying to pin some stupid made-up charge on me, he could go to his _real_ home!"

"Mr Smith, that is bang out of –"

"Is it?" he demanded angrily. "I'll tell you what's bang out of order, _sir_! That that poor boy has been shunted from one Home to another because no-one has _ever_ cared about where he ends up!"

"Apart from you?"

"Well at least I bothered to ask about his family!" he shouted. "Far more than you lot have ever done!"

"Mr Smith!"

"Don't you '_Mr Smith_' me!" he roared. "Why don't you stop wasting everyone's time and do some real work! Let me go so I can do what I came here to do! Don't you have some graffiti artist's spelling to correct somewhere?"

"Right!" the officer said abruptly, getting to his feet. "If you're not going to be any help, you can bloody well spend the night here."

The Doctor watched him turn and storm out of the interview room. There was the sound of a bolt scraping across the outside, and then he heard the DI calling for officers.

He leaned back in the chair, huffed, and folded his arms.

-------------------------------------------------

David waited until the lights had been officially turned out by the matron, then counted to one hundred.

He slipped out of bed, pushing his feet in his slippers and creeping round to the door to the four-bed room.

He opened the door silently, slipping out and heading down the corridor. He found the second door and opened it just as quietly, slipping inside and waiting.

He let his eyes get used to the darkness, making out the shapes of the beds. He headed for the one nearest the window, reaching it and sitting down slowly. He put a hand out and touched the girl's arm.

Helena opened her eyes and looked up at him.

"Well?" she whispered. He looked around.

"Not in here. Come on," he whispered back, getting off her bed and walking back to the door. She got out of bed, found her slippers, and followed him silently.

A few minutes later and they were sat on the floor of a power cupboard, watching each other in the gloom.

"Right. Now you tell me what's going on, Dave," she said firmly.

"Alright, it's like this," he said quickly. "That man's not from round here," he began.

"Really?" she asked. "Where's he from, Liverpool?"

"Further than that," he said with a smile.

"You don't mean… Scotland?" she dared. His smile turned into a grin.

"No, I mean he's not like us, Lena. Look… If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Don't be daft," she whispered shortly. "I've never told _anyone_ anything you've told me. They'd think me mad anyway!"

"Right," he said with a smile. "Well… He's an alien," he whispered.

She stared at him.

"What… like… an alien?" she breathed.

"Yeah!" he hissed. "His torch-thing told me."

"His 'torch-thing'?" she demanded flatly, putting her hands on her hips.

"Yeah!" he said happily. "It's really cool – you don't have to touch owt with it, it just makes the doors come unlocked!"

"Dave, don't start," she sighed, putting a hand to her forehead wearily.

"It's true!" he hissed, upset she didn't appear to believe him.

"Oh Dave, everything you tell me… I know you really want it to be true. But –"

"Alright then, look," he said smartly, getting up off the floor and tipping a finger at her. She sighed and got up too. "Right, open the door," he said.

She reached out and put her hand on the door handle, pushing it down and pulling the door open.

"And close it."

She did so and he pulled his hand out from his pyjama pocket, flicking on the screwdriver and watching the blue light. She gasped at the sound of the instrument, and then David heard the small click from the door. He flicked off the screwdriver and folded his arms.

"Open it," he said succinctly.

She put her hand out on the door handle. It moved barely an inch through its downward arc before it stopped. She gasped, rattling it up and down.

"It's locked!" she managed, surprised, trying it with both hands now.

"Told you," he said proudly. She let go, looking at the screwdriver. "Now, hang on…" He flicked the screwdriver back on and aimed it at the door handle. He heard the tiny click again and snapped the blue light off. "Try it now."

She did and it opened easily.

"Oh… my… god," she whispered, then let the door close again. She turned and looked at David. "So… what do we do now?"

"We?" he asked, pocketing the screwdriver again. "_We_ go back to bed, love. _I'm_ going to go to the matron int morning and tell her I want to see that man again."

"But why?" she asked quickly. "If he's an alien –"

"He can help me, Lena, and maybe you too."

"How?"

"Imagine if he could find your parents, Lena. Imagine if he could find you somewhere to live, so I could see you all the time?" he said desperately. "What if your _real_ parents live somewhere near here, you just never knew?"

"What about finding _your_ parents too?" she demanded angrily. "And what if he takes you back to his spaceship? What if he takes you away from me? Forever?"

"Lena," he said, biting his lip. "I don't think he'd do that. He dunt seem like a bad man."

"He's not a _man_!" she stressed. "He's some alien _thing_!" She paused and saw his face. "What?"

"I think – well, I think he might be…"

"What?"

"I think he's my dad!" he blurted nervously.

She stared at him, shocked.

"What?"

"Well… He looks like me! An' I can talk to him, Lena! And you know me, I can't talk to anyone without starting a fight." He didn't dare meet her eyes.

"But you said he was an alien!"

"I know." He bit his lip, very uncertain and major puzzles and possibilities racing through his head.

"Dave…" She sighed. "Look. Do you really think he might be your dad?" She paused. "Seriously?"

"Maybe," he mumbled. "Only – I don't think ­_he_ knows, really. But he's nice though."

"Maybe he's just nice cos he wants to kidnap you – I've seen it ont news," she said cynically.

"But he could help us!" he cried urgently. He put his hands to her arms, holding her still. "Lena, listen to me. Trust me."

She pouted, watching him and turning it over and over in her head.

"Can I at least come with you?" she asked timidly. He thought about it, his eyes whirling.

"No," he said sadly. _Just in case you're right_, he heard himself add. "But I'll come back for you."

"Promise?" she asked. He nodded.

"I promise."

"Then be careful, Dave," she said quietly. "I'll just wait for you to come back. Whatever happens."


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT**

The Doctor was sat cross-legged on one of the two wooden bench seats in the small cell, his jacket off and slung across the other end. He had his right elbow firmly on his knee, his chin in his hand and his eyes closed.

"Excuse me, sir," someone said from the door. He opened his eyes and looked over at the small inspection flap in the cell door.

"What now?" he asked irritably.

"Someone to see you," a policewoman said through the gap. "I'm bringing him in and I'm to stay the whole visit."

"I'll try to contain my excitement," the Doctor breathed to himself.

She unlocked the door, opening it to let David Dale walk in.

"Alright, mister," he said guiltily.

"Mr Dale," he said genially, not moving his chin or his feet. The boy just looked at him for a long moment, then over at the policewoman, waiting for her to walk in and close the door behind her. She leaned back on it, folding her arms.

"Do you _have_ to stay?" David asked her plaintively.

"Yes," she said clearly.

David bit his lip, looking back at the Time Lord.

"Ok, mister, it's like this," he said frankly. "I'm sorry I caused all this trouble int first place. If I'd not seen you on that platform and bought those tickets, and then ran off ont train, we wouldn't be stuck here."

"You're _not_ stuck here," he said idly.

"But I am _stuck_," he said timidly. The Doctor waited, watching the small boy with curiosity. David turned and looked back at the woman. "Please miss, can I just talk to him without you here? I promise I won't do owt naughty," he said, his large brown eyes full off innocence and hope.

She bit her lip, thinking.

"She's not here to stop _you_, Daniel –"

"David."

"David. She's here to stop _me_," he said quietly. The boy looked back at him.

"Why?"

"Because they think I run around kidnapping small boys like you. Rassilon only knows what I'd do with any of you lot, but still," he said, finding himself amused by this. "I couldn't imagine anything worse that being trapped in a room with a whole crowd of –"

"I know I were mean and that, but you don't have to be mean back," David said unexpectedly, and the Doctor looked at him. There was a long silence.

"Ah," he said quietly. He sniffed, thinking. "So… What can I do for you?" he asked knowingly.

"Well…" David began. He turned and looked at the woman, who huffed and lifted her hands in the air.

"Alright, you've got two minutes," she said irritably, turning and walking out. "I can hear everything you say through his door anyway, pet!"

She swung the large door closed and David rushed over to the bed, pulling the screwdriver from his pocket.

"Right. We have to get out of here and back to them records you were talking about ont train!" he whispered hoarsely.

The Doctor simply plucked the screwdriver from his grasp and flicked it on, studying the blue light thoughtfully.

"Six hours left," he said to himself. "No, six hours and change."

"Mister!" David protested, "We have to get out of here!"

The Doctor pocketed the screwdriver safely.

"We?" he prompted, uncrossing his legs and putting his feet to the floor.

"I promised Helena I'd find out where we're both from!"

"I _know_ where I'm from, but thanks," the Doctor said easily. David tutted.

"Don't be like that!" he hissed, then his face turned anguished. "_Help_ me!"

"Why?" he asked directly.

"Because you're the only one that _can_!" he whispered. "I've never met anyone like you, and I'm not letting you go home without helping me!"

"I can't go home," he said quietly.

"What?" David asked, caught out. "Why not?"

"It's not there any more," he said, putting his hands in his pockets and watching the small boy stare at him. _And why did I just tell him that? Like I was just announcing the weather?_

"So… You just… You just go and do stuff, but you can never go home afterwards?" he asked, his face horrified.

"Pretty much," he said. "I live on my spaceship these days."

"Oh," he said quietly. "But… See!" he said suddenly, grabbing the Time Lord's wrist desperately. "That's why! All last night I were thinking and thinking – why did I meet you on that platform? I could have stayed at the home and gone to bed. I could have gone to see a film instead. Life could have been very different! But then –"

"Something changed?" the Doctor interrupted suddenly, staring at the small boy with wonder.

"Yeah!" he admitted, surprised. "How did you know I were going to –"

"You listen to too much Pulp," he said to himself, then ran a hand through his hair.

"Who?" he asked, baffled. The Doctor eyed him. "Look mister, now I know," he said quickly. "Now I know why I bumped into _you_, and not anyone else. Cos you don't _have_ a home, that's why! And if you met someone who _has_ a home but just doesn't know where it is, wouldn't you want to help them find it?" he pleaded.

"Derek –"

"_David_!" he hissed.

"David," he said quietly. "First we have to get out of here." He paused. "Where _is_ here?"

"Preston," David said quickly.

"Is that far from Piccadilly?"

"Why?"

"Is it far?" the Doctor pressed.

"Well it's not a five-bob cab-ride," he said indignantly, as if it were obvious. The Doctor looked around the room, thinking.

"That means… a sneak escape, under the watchful eye of Missus Plod out there, followed by the fastest transport back to Piccadilly," he said firmly.

"Piccadilly?" he asked. "Why?"

"That's where my spaceship is," he said brightly. He stood, walking to the door and knocking on it. "And believe me, five minutes in my spaceship will reveal everything there is to know about you – more than any mouldy old Earth records ever could. _And_ the source of this mysterious countdown, now I've got more data collected–. Well?" he asked, watching little David stare at him, incredulous. "Are you coming?"

"Try and stop me!" he grinned, and turned quickly, picking up the Doctor's jacket. He squeezed it in his fingers, turning and rushing up to the door beside him.

-------------------------------------------------

"Toilets," David said, shaking his head sadly. The Doctor watched him walk off toward the food kiosk, and grinned to himself proudly.

David thought about it. Toilets had been the most obvious way to go, sure, but they'd obviously been the easiest way, too.

And what policewoman would stop a small boy from using the toilets on the visitor level, after all? Alone, and secretly carrying a screwdriver? A screwdriver that he had used to open the windows of the toilets on the prisoner level – letting the gangly alien climb out through the compact window and grab the boy's hand, so they could run for their lives along the outside of the police station wall?

Now, standing on Preston station and waiting for the train expected to arrive in four minutes, David had to admit he'd had more fun these past few days than in his entire life so far.

Which wasn't saying much.

He reflected on this as he bought the ice-creams and wandered back to the tall, gangly alien, making sure to keep to the path he had been advised to, knowing it kept him from the CCTV cameras.

"Oi," he said, elbowing the Gallifreyan in the hip. The Doctor looked down and took an ice-cream from him with a small smile. "I were going to get jelly babies, but they didn't have any. But then I didn't know if you'd like 'em anyway." He paused. "That's because I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Really?" he mused. "Something tells me that if all this were waiting to happen tomorrow, you'd do it all again."

"Wouldn't you?" he asked innocently, and the Doctor laughed suddenly.

"You know," he said grandly, licking his ice-cream before it could drip on his suit, "you're very mature for your age, Dermot."

"_David_!" he sighed.

"Right. Sorry."

"What's your spaceship like, anyway?"

"Big," he said succinctly.

"So how did you hide it in Piccadilly?" he asked, licking the ice-cream slowly.

"Science," he said, nodding contentedly to himself.

"Mister," he said wearily, "come on. Tell me."

"Wait and see," he said slyly.

"So your ship can tell us everything about me? Even me real name?"

"_Well_, maybe it can't do that, but it can certainly point us in the right direction," he said confidently.

"To find out stuff?"

"Exactly," he said happily, "Because for some reason I cannot fathom my screwdriver is being affected exponentially by this interfering countdown as time goes on." He paused, licking his ice-cream and looking down at the boy.

"So it's possible you _are_ me dad then, it's just that your blue torch-thing is ont blink with all this interference?" he said slyly.

The Doctor didn't look at him, and yet decided against lying.

"You know, you're a smart lad, underneath it all."

"Underneath all what?" he asked sharply.

This made the Doctor chuckle as he licked his melting ice-cream quickly. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, waving it and the tissue on the end at David without even sparing him a glance.

"Why –" David began, then gasped suddenly. "Oh bugger!"

"Language," the Doctor tutted, looking at him. David took the tissue gratefully and wiped the fresh drip from his t-shirt. The Doctor noticed it for the first time, and it made him grin. "Look after that t-shirt."

"Why?" David asked, intrigued.

"It's special," the Doctor said with a private smile.

David looked down at his t-shirt. It was white, with blue rims round the sleeves and neckline, and a picture of a tall, blue rectangle on it. There were figures around the rectangle, which appeared to be tipped to one side precariously.

Underneath were the words '_the angels have the phone box_'.

"Yeah it is, int it?" David grinned. "Helena saw it int shop in Deansgate on our last trip out. She said she saw it and thought of me," he said proudly. "Made Mrs Hudson buy it me."

"This Helena," the Doctor put in, licking his ice-cream.

"Yeah?"

"She's your friend."

"Yeah."

"And she's a girl?"

"Well I hope so, or the matron played a really nasty joke on her when she gave her a name," he quipped.

"Ah. So she's a girl and she's your _friend_," he said thoughtfully, rocking back on his heels cheekily. "So she's your –"

"No she is not!" David said stiffly. The Doctor raised an eyebrow and looked at him, highly amused. David met his gaze fearlessly.

They burst into laughter, David belatedly remembering to hold his ice-cream a safe distance from his clothes lest it drip on him again.

The Doctor recovered first, reaching out and tousling the boy's hair lightly with his left hand.

The speakers crackled into life above them, announcing the train's arrival, and they hastily finished their ice-creams, preparing to board.


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

The train pulled in at Piccadilly and they shot off as fast as wee David's legs could carry him. They made it to the steps and were halfway across the station when a whistle suddenly pierced the air.

"Police!" David shouted.

He pushed at the Doctor's jacket to go faster. The Time Lord grabbed his hand and pulled him, pushing and running through the mass of passengers and people loitering around the station concourse.

"Don't look! Just run!" the Doctor shouted.

"Stay where you are!" The crackly, tinny voice came from a loud-hailer in the hands of a short, stocky policeman. "You! This is the police! Stay where you are!"

People began to part and scramble away from them as they continued to run toward the edge of the concourse.

"Where to?" David shouted.

"Split up!" the Doctor snapped. "You run for the side doors over there – get to – get to the store room!" he shouted.

"What about you?"

"Just go! Wait for me! In the store room!" he shouted, releasing David's hand.

"Mister!" he protested.

"Go!"

"Be careful!"

"And you _hide_!" he shouted.

"Watch yourself! If they catch you, I'm coming to get you!"

The Doctor opened his mouth to gainsay, but the small boy was already dropping down out of sight, disappearing into the crowd like sugar in tea.

The Doctor turned and ran for the opposite side of the concourse. He pushed through people left and right, jumping over luggage and throwing himself at the gap in the glass for the platform entrance.

He was tripped up by some suitcase or other. He went flying out on his front, and had time to cover his head with his arms.

But he slid up against the glass divide and was instantly on his feet. He threw himself through the entrance and ran for the train.

He heard police and shouting behind him and his eyes narrowed as he saw the train leaving. He took off down the edge of the platform, sprinting as fast as he could, keeping level with the train. He waited until the very last second, hearing the police shouting at him from somewhere behind.

He reached out with his left hand, grabbing onto the train and jumping with all his strength.

The train continued to speed up and he plastered himself to the side. He whipped his face to the left, spotting the sea of blue on the station platform shouting to him.

He grinned and the train rumbled away, taking him with it.

-------------------------------------------------

David ran across the concourse, slamming against the shiny metal door and sliding down it, panting for breath.

He looked up and around, then stood quickly, trying not to look as guilty as he felt.

He felt in his pocket for the screwdriver, wondering again how he had managed to get it from the alien so easily.

He grinned cheerfully, turning and using it to unlock the silver door behind him easily.

"Don't worry," he said to it quietly as he stepped through and closed it behind him, "I'm not keeping you. I'm just borrowing you."

He walked a little further down, watching the ceiling for CCTV cameras. He stopped as he noticed one, and backed away a little, hoping it couldn't see him back there.

He sat down and waited.

-------------------------------------------------

The Doctor put his hand out and pushed the door open slowly, slipping inside and letting it close behind him. He walked down the corridor a short way before coming across a small boy, apparently sleeping against the wall.

He crouched down and looked at him, taking in his unruly gingery-brown hair, his nose that should have been too big but was too thin in the bridge. His freckles, his expressive eyebrows, his thin-limbed frame.

The Doctor wiped a hand over his chin thoughtfully, then just shook his head, mystified. He put his hand out and pushed his shoulder gently.

"Damon," he said softly.

"David," he sighed, opening his eyes. "Are we right?" he yawned.

"Yeah," he said, "we're sorted. The Greater Manchester Police are busy searching every platform between here and Glasgow Central," he grinned.

"Proper," he nodded, satisfied. He got to his feet wearily. "There's just that," he said, pointing at the camera.

"Is that why you're sat here?" he asked, surprised. David nodded. "But you nicked my screwdriver."

"Yeah, and I got in the door with it. But –"

"It doesn't just open _doors_, Dugan," he tutted, taking it from him.

"David."

"David. It also does _this_," he said, turning and pointing it up at the camera, flicking it on. It buzzed and the light on the camera dimmed and went out. The camera jerked and stopped.

"Cool!" he breathed. The Doctor looked down at him.

"Come on then."

They walked along the corridor, the Doctor opening another door and holding it open for him. He crept through and into the semi-darkness, looking around.

"The phone box!" he whispered reverently.

"Yup," the Doctor agreed, popping the 'p'. He walked toward it, pulling out his key.

"But – it's the phone box!" he said quickly. The Doctor paused as he heard the note of panic in the boy's voice.

"Yes," he said slowly. "It's alright, it's mine."

"Yours?" he demanded, taking a step back.

"What?" he asked curiously. "It's alright, it's just my ship," he added. "It's harmless."

"But it's… blue," he said slowly, as if struggling with something. The Doctor stared at him.

"Yes."

"The inside. Is it orange?" he asked quietly.

"It is today," he said honestly. "How do you know that?"

"It should be orange," he said quietly. "It should be… singing. And happy. She's happy!" he exclaimed suddenly, running forwards and putting his hands on the wood.

The Doctor watched him, confused beyond imagining, as the boy pressed his face against the wood and laughed wildly.

"Can you hear her? She's singing! She's singing for me!"

"Ok mate, _now_ you're freaking me out," he said darkly, reaching out and pushing his key into the lock. He opened the door, but before he could open his mouth, David had disappeared inside.

"She's beautiful!" he shouted. "And just the same!"

The Doctor hurried inside and watched the boy run around the Time Rotor's centre console excitedly.

He shut the door behind him, running up the ramp and adjusting the controls quickly to lock the little boy out of anything he might push by accident. He pushed levers and moved balls, turning to keep an eye on the boy.

He was standing on the grating, looking down through it between his feet, grinning and chuckling. He looked up and around, running his hands through his hair before grabbing at it excitedly, running off to lean against the wall, listening to it.

"Dominic?" he called warily.

"David," he said, but he was completely pre-occupied.

"Whatever," the Doctor said quickly. "Come here."

"Ok," he chirped happily, walking over to stand next to the Doctor. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to ask her to check you over," he said clearly. "It's not going to hurt."

"Her," he said faintly. The Doctor looked at him. "You and her, the only two left. And she loves you. That's why she's doing this," he said faintly. "We don't understand yet, but we will."

"What?" he demanded stonily.

"And you still don't know what the countdown is for, do you?" he asked helpfully.

The Doctor eyed the monitor, pulling it round and adjusting some settings. He took the screwdriver from his jacket pocket and turned it on, waving it past the monitor's base quickly. He snapped it off and shoved it in his trouser pocket.

He tapped and moved small buttons, massaging the data previously stored in the screwdriver, and suddenly a large, digital clock appeared on the screen.

"One hour," he said, starting to worry.

"Just under the wire," David commented happily.

"Look," the Doctor said, eyeing him warily, "tell me where you've seen this box before."

"_Before_. Before, before, before," the boy mused to himself, looking around. "It's like… _Oooh_!" he hissed suddenly, angrily, lifting his hand and slapping lightly at the back of his head repeatedly. "Think! Think! Think!" he grunted.

The Doctor simply watched him, his eyes wide in something akin to panic.

"Oh!" David crowed suddenly, making the Doctor jump. "It's like… It's like when you record summat on a DVD, and then use it to make a copy for your mate," he said, then turned and looked up, snapping his fingers and pointing at the Time Lord unexpectedly. "You see?" he grinned daffily.

The Doctor turned away from him deliberately, feeling a tide of uncharacteristic fear sweeping up his spine. He reached out and pulled a small dial to the left.

"Just stay still," he said, managing to sound much calmer than he felt. "It won't take long."

"Ok," he said cheerfully. "Is this before or after you realise who I really am?" he asked innocently.

The Doctor froze, then looked down to find that the little boy's hand was in the Gallifreyan's trouser pocket.

David withdrew his hand from his pocket slowly. In it was the screwdriver. He pulled it up to his eye, looking down the end.

Then he flicked it on, blinking against the harsh light for a long few seconds. He flicked it off, then turned it to look at it, thinking for a long moment.

The Doctor stared at him, unable to think. Something was preventing him from making an attempt to stop the boy. Something was holding him back from –

David nodded, suddenly confident, then turned the screwdriver round again. He raised his arm, letting the screwdriver hover over a large, green ball sunk into the main Time Rotor console.

"You see," he said patiently, "Coming back here has just suddenly made a lot of things very, very clear. I've had time to work out exactly who _I_ am. But right now, right this very moment, I'm kind of wondering who _you_ are. I'm hoping she'll tell me in a moment. _And_ how she got you to persuade her to bring you here, just before time. You've been very helpful, and –"

"David –" he began quickly, eyeing the proximity of the screwdriver and the mains control board.

"My name's not David," he interrupted apologetically.

He took a deep breath, and his little eyes took on an amount of anguish and understanding that really should have been impossible in an eight year old child.

"Now wait a –"

"And I am sorry. I am so very, very sorry," David said sadly. "But you can't be here any more."

He flicked on the screwdriver.


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly, letting them focus and realising he was lying face down on the grating of the TARDIS floor.

He groaned and put his hands under him, lifting himself up off the floor. He sat up but then fell backwards, suddenly feeling very weak. He felt the wall at his back and relaxed against it, trying to get his breath back, feeling winded.

"Oh hello! You alright?" said a cheerful voice. He rolled his head against the wall, looking up at the small face.

David had been carrying a box of parts past him in his arms, but had stopped to look at him.

"What happened?" he whispered, feeling unable to even stretch his arm up. "Something's wrong."

"Yeah," David said uneasily.

He hesitated, biting his lip, then turned and set the box down behind him. He sat on it, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together, pinning the Doctor with a serious gaze in his wide, brown eyes.

"Who _are_ you?" the Doctor managed.

"I'm surprised you haven't worked it out," he said. "I'm you. And she arranged for you to rescue me," he added, nodding to the TARDIS around them. "Which you have, by the way, so thanks very much," he added kindly.

Suddenly, the Doctor realised the small boy's rather broad Manchester accent had vanished, as if it had never been. But he clung to sanity vaguely.

"Don't believe you," he breathed.

"Really?" David said sadly, then got to his feet, letting his hands slide into his pockets. "So tell me this, Doctor – ooh," he said suddenly, stopping to look at the ceiling as he thought about that. "That's weird. Talking to you, calling you '_Doctor_'." He looked back down at him, his eyes running over him carefully. "I never realised I was so tall in real life. Still, I expect that's cos I'm rather small at the moment."

"Prove it," the Doctor hissed.

"Oh yes, right," he said, shaking himself. "Well then, tell me something about yourself, Doctor," he said seriously. "When was the last time you saw Martha Jones?"

"She left me… her phone," he wheezed, feeling what little strength he had start to ebb.

"And before that?" he asked. "Tell me about… ooh, something painful enough to stick with you forever. Oh! I know! Look, I'm sorry to have to do this, but. Rose. Where's Rose, Doctor?" he asked pointedly.

"Who?" he asked, struggling to breathe.

"Rose Tyler. You do remember Rose Tyler? She was pretty important in your life at one stage."

"No idea who you're –"

"No, you haven't," David said sadly. "Because you weren't me then. _I_ was me then, but you _weren't_," he said. "You weren't me until… Oh, where do I start?" he asked.

"Don't believe you," the Doctor grunted.

"Then how could I remember this?" he asked, turning and walking right up to him. He crouched down and put a hand out, on the Doctor's shoulder gently. He looked at him sadly, apologetically. "My friend, my enemy, the Master," he said quietly.

The Doctor eyed him warily.

"Right there, in my arms, dying. And there was nothing I could do. I just sat there, unable to help him, unable to stop him. And now he's gone, and I'm truly alone. All last vestiges of hope I had of finding another Time Lord, or just any other Gallifreyan, pretty much died that day." He paused. "I just can't bring myself to believe any more. I suppose that's what 'getting old' really means."

The Doctor's mouth worked but nothing came out.

"And then Martha Jones. Clever, funny, _friendly_ Martha Jones," he said sadly, still watching the immobile Time Lord with large, soft eyes. "She had things to do. Important things. And if there's one thing that she's taught me, it's that some important things, no matter how inconvenient, can make everything all right in the end."

"What did you do?" he whispered urgently.

"I've simply triggered the distillation and re-integration programme you – _I_ – set up before all this malarkey started," he said, putting his hands on his knees and standing up. "Only… Well, when I said we'd just got in under the wire, I meant it."

He turned back and looked at the centre console, lifting an arm and pointing at the monitor, still displaying the countdown.

"See that?" he asked clearly, looking back at the Doctor. "Six minutes. Unless the distillation and re-integration happens before then, I'm looking at missing out on my last few regenerations."

He sniffed to himself, letting his arm drop as he walked away slightly. He turned back to look at him.

"I am sorry. I had no idea what that countdown was for, after all."

"What have you done?" he managed, his voice weak now.

"Recently?" he stressed. "Well it all kinda kicked off after Martha went home. I dashed off, head full of ideas and hearts full of upset, and got stuck on Jorath Telarny B," he said conversationally, lifting his hand and pulling at his little ear in a gesture that made the Doctor's blood run cold. "Got caught trying to sneak into the library – you know they have the _best_ collection of pre-war sonic technology in there. The place was closed for renovation, but I just couldn't let it go. See? Martha would have stopped me, and I wouldn't be in this mess," he said sadly. "Anyway, penalty for that is Compression – you know, when they jam your prison sentence into your head in one afternoon, but you still believe it's taken the length of your sentence in real-time. I got… er… thirty-two years," he said awkwardly.

He looked over at the Doctor, slumped against the wall, simply watching him, physically unable to do anything else. He sighed.

"Of course, they weren't to know what would happen to me. They thought I was human, never bothered to check. When I physically regressed _instead_, they kinda panicked. They didn't know what to do. They'd never met a Time Lord before."

"Shame," the Doctor managed.

David smiled somewhat sadly.

"And you and me are probably the only ones – _one_ – who will ever know how much." He walked to the main console, leaning up slightly to look at something. "Not long now. Are you… are you alright?" he asked, walking back over. "I didn't know it would do it like this, I'm really sorry."

"Do what?"

"Jump me back into you," he said simply. "I'm not actually sure how it's going to happen, but… Just have to wait and see, eh," he said uneasily. "Anyway, they took me from Jorath Telarny B and dumped me on Earth, thinking I was a resident. There I was, memory wiped and basically regressed into a three year old, and someone took me to an orphanage. I was shunted around from place to place, probably cos no-one could stand the weirdness of a Gallifreyan child acting like a human – not that they knew what I was, of course. All those X-rays saying I had too many organs? They pretty much got chucked in the bin. Good old NHS, eh?"

He paused unhappily.

"And that's how I've been stuck for just about five years now. She took her time coming to get me," he said, looking a little displeased for the first time. "Still, probably a good thing, or I'd have been too young."

"How…?" He coughed suddenly, unable to suck in enough air, it seemed.

"How are _you_ here? Well… Something to do with a certain tear in space-time," he said uneasily. "Cardiff isn't the only place with a rift."

"Piccadilly," the Doctor managed, wheezing painfully.

"That's _Manchester_ Piccadilly," he nodded. "Yeah. To be honest, I really had no clue what's been going on till you found me and I started remembering," he said. "You're a… Well, the TARDIS made you, a copy, from the DNA and quantum prints she had of me. She was desperate, you see."

He walked round the far side of the console, nodding to himself, then walked back round.

"She settled over the rift and set down her interference patterns, to stop you finding the rift at all. Well, until you didn't need to, that is. Couldn't have you getting your agendas confused. Anyway, she made it back into the vortex, scanned and printed off a hard copy of me – that's you, by the way – and then left you to it. She knew if she presented you with a little interference pattern mystery you wouldn't be able to resist looking into it. Cause and effect, Time Lord curiosity and plain old good luck did the rest."

He paused, watching the older man, but he was still shaking his head weakly.

"I'd know," he managed.

"Really? Tell me Doctor, do you remember waking up, but not having fallen asleep? Waking up with a headache, perhaps? One that disappeared rather easily?" he asked gently.

The older man stopped and looked at him, the look on his face slowly sagging into one of shock. The boy nodded sadly.

"Yeah. That was about forty-two hours ago, right?" He sighed. "The flaw in the plan was that she's not the newly-grown thing she once was – forty-two hours was all she could give you to exist, quantum back-up wise. And the lack of memories… _well_, let's just say she doesn't quite have the empty RAM she once had."

"Signal," he managed weakly, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Exactly!" the boy grinned. "Now you're getting it! I was quantum-tagged when they jammed me in that machine and regressed thirty-two years out of me, body and mind," he said, shivering slightly at the memory. "So she used it. That and the ol' Rassilon Imprimatur," he said with satisfaction. "As long as you found me and got curious enough to run me past the old girl here, everything would be hunky-dory."

"Now?" he asked, coughing again slightly.

"And now," he said sadly, walking over again, hands in his pockets, "I have to stand here and watch you cease to be. Can't be two of us, you see? Problem is, I'd better be you again before you slip-slide off this mortal coil, or I'll be a goner too. But hey, in about…" He looked at his watch quickly, thinking. Then he looked up again. "At the rate the re-integration jobbie is going, hopefully in about two minutes you'll be me anyway, and therefore not dead. You see?"

"Hurts," the Doctor whispered, and David's face fell instantly.

"Oh. I didn't know running out of quantum info would hurt you like this. I had no idea how it _would_ work, actually. I'm sorry." He heaved an anguished sigh. "If it's any consolation, I'm going to remember how horrible this moment is for both of us for the rest of my lives."

"David," the Doctor gasped. He knelt down, putting his little hand to his upper arm.

"Yes."

"Helena," he whispered.

"Oh, don't worry," he said, oddly proudly. It made him smile slightly, despite the obvious pain of the man crumpled against the wall. "Doctor," he said quietly. He looked at the older face, the larger, longer version of his own, with identical large brown eyes staring back at him.

"Yes."

"Thanks for everything, mate. And, just for the record?" He paused, wondering how to phrase it, perhaps. "_I_ know. About Martha. I know _she_ doesn't. I know no-one else cares. But _I_ know how you wanted it to be."

The Doctor smiled suddenly, relaxing. His shoulders sagged slowly, his smile widened into a friendly grin for the barest of moments. Then it began to fade, his face relaxing gradually. His chest fluttered up and then collapsed in, pushing out the last of his breath in a long, slow expulsion.

His eyes rolled up and closed. And he slid sideways to the floor gracefully.

The monitor in the centre console let out a long, flat monotone of a beep.

David sighed unhappily, leaning over him and placing his hand in the middle of his chest, waiting.

"Gone," he said quietly. He huffed irritably, lifting his hand away and scrubbing it through his hair. "Missed. I was just a shade too late after all."

He felt pain shoot through his body, fire coursing through every vein.

"Oh… _bollocks_," he grunted. "Ooh… I _hate_ it when I die."


	11. Chapter 11

**ELEVEN**

The Doctor opened his eyes slowly, letting them focus and realising he was lying face down on the grating of the TARDIS floor.

He groaned and put his hands under him, lifting himself up off the floor. He sat up but then fell backwards, suddenly feeling very weak. He felt the wall at his back and relaxed against it, trying to get his breath back, feeling winded.

He looked around the TARDIS, the control room, dragging in huge breaths as if he'd just resurfaced from a hundred-foot dive.

The power hummed, the lights bled calm, warm orange into the cavernous room, and he heard the familiar strumming vibrations in a constant riff of contentment.

He jumped, looking down at his hands quickly, finding them both present and correct. He slapped them against his chest, his ribs, his hair, feeling his sudden size and letting it all sink in.

"I did it," he said to himself, surprised. "I _did_ it!"

He got to his feet unsteadily, leaning his palm against the wall to steady himself. He gasped in air and looked around.

"Just as I remember it," he breathed, wobbling to the centre console and leaning on it, looking at the monitor.

Countdown – four minutes and twenty seconds past.

He shook his head, not sure what had just happened but fully prepared to work it out later with the help of a long hot bath.

He leaned away from the console slowly and put his hands on it gratefully, sliding them down the flat surface between the many levers and buttons.

He smiled, relieved, remembering the moments, the times, the years spent over its surface, the more recent ones reassuring him he was most definitely himself again.

His smile faded as images of trees, of cotton sheets, of matrons, fellow orphans and school trips came abruptly to mind. The past five years served as a child popped back up in his memory, demanding to be dealt with, screaming through his mind's eye at a thousand miles an hour.

He stood, transfixed by what he couldn't see for an indefinite time, battling to stop the flow of real-time memories and bring himself back to the present.

_It'll always be there. It'll always be the second time I grew up._

And then there was _him_.

He looked over at the opposite side of the room gingerly, knowing it was where the _other_ him had died.

He walked over slowly, crouching and putting his hand to the grating. It vibrated slightly with the power that was humming through the entire ship. But now it felt slightly different.

He got up quickly, backing away and pulling his chin straight, sniffing abruptly. He shivered, letting his hands fall into his pockets as he backed away one more.

He was quiet a long time as a plethora of thoughts, plans, ideas, scars and wounds skipped cruelly past his eyes. The TARDIS hummed, the lights perhaps a little brighter than before, waiting for him to catch up with himself.

He stepped back one abruptly, taking a deep breath and tearing his eyes away from the spot where _he_ had died. He felt his hand come out of his pocket and he had snatched up the phone. His thumb had wedged it open and pressed buttons before he looked down and realised he was doing it.

He swallowed and raised it to his ear quickly.

"Hi. Who's that?" said a male voice on the other end. He opened his mouth, thought about it, and then sighed.

"No-one important," he said quietly, closing the phone and putting it in his pocket slowly.

He took a deep breath, letting it all out and turning to the console. He looked around slowly, thought about a cup of tea, then shivered again slightly.

He unbuttoned his jacket slowly, pulling his tie loose and sniffing to himself, letting his mind go blank and hoping it would stay that way for a few more minutes.

He felt the phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, not even looking at the display. He snapped it open and held it to his ear automatically.

"Oi mister!" said a familiar voice, and he grinned in relief, in amusement, in the knowledge that Martha Jones was happy to hear from him.

"Oi yourself," he said suavely.

"Sorry about that – Tish's bloke answered my phone but said the other person hung up. When I looked it just said '_unidentifiable number_'," she giggled. "Thought it must have been you. What are you up to, then?"

"Oh, er…" he began bravely, "Just, kind of… Stuff," he managed lightly. There was a long silence.

"What's happened?" she asked gently. "You alright?"

"Yeah, 'course!" he blustered, but his eyes were drawn back to the creepy corner of the grating and he shivered. He closed his eyes quickly, turning his back to it. "Just bored."

"Well you don't sound it. Tell you what, get down here and you can amuse Mum with your Stan Laurel impersonation. She's been asking after you."

"Really?" he asked weakly. There was another long silence as he bit the inside of his lip.

"Mate," she said quietly.

Long silence.

"Yeah," he said easily. "Yeah, alright. When are you?" he asked quietly.

"17th August, 2007," she said. "It's Friday night."

"I know, I'm… I've just got to… There's something I have to do first. Then I'll find you. I'll jump it, I won't be late."

"Well don't get stuck in some interstellar war, mister, I'll tell Mum you're on your way," she chuckled. "I'll leave my phone on, yeah? That way you can probably trace me or whatever it is your powerful blue box does," she said, and he heard the grin in her voice.

"Yeah. Good thinking," he said, smiling slightly. "Yeah. Oh – Martha," he said quickly.

"What?"

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet, you haven't met Tish's bloke," she chuckled.

-------------------------------------------------

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS doors, walking across the grass and round the front of the large building, his hands in his pockets.

He skipped up the stone steps, through the large glass doors at the entrance, and walked up to the large reception desk.

"Hello," he said cheerfully. The girl behind the desk looked up.

"Good afternoon, sir," she said politely. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a resident," he said happily. "Helena Stafford. I was told she's being homed soon, just thought I'd stop by and say hello before she goes."

"Oh. Well… has she met you before?" she asked, uncertain. "Have you applied for adoption for Miss Stafford?"

"Oh no, not at all," he said quickly. "I'm just a family – er no, _friend_-friend," he corrected.

"Right," she said, remarkably unconvinced. "Well in the interests of safety, you'll have to meet her in the social room, Mr…?"

"Smith," he said happily. "Fine. Shall I go along and wait, then?"

"Yes please," she said. "I'll call for her. She'll be along. Do you know the way?"

"Yep. Thanks," he said, rapping his knuckles on the top of the counter before walking off, finding the social room without help.

He walked in and looked around, smiling fondly at the mess of books, paints and toys scattered around the room. He walked over to the windows, hands in his pockets, looking out and noticing the roof of the TARDIS poking out beneath the trees.

It was a good ten minutes, and then he heard the door open again. He looked over.

And there she was. His best friend of three years. They'd climbed trees together, cheated at hopscotch and marbles together, and helped each other soak horse chestnuts in vinegar to win conkers tournaments.

He couldn't help grinning.

She looked at him and gasped. She wandered closer, the nurse with her folding her arms and keeping a close eye on her and the strange man who appeared strikingly familiar in some way.

Helena Stafford approached warily, her eyes darting up and down him, then finally searching out his eyes.

"David!" she squealed, running over. She banged into him and he laughed, getting on one knee to hug her.

"I'm not David," he said kindly, but she squeezed him.

"But you must be!" she protested. "You disappeared and came back like this!"

She just squeezed him for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually she pulled him away, studying his face.

"It _is_ you, int it?" she whispered. "You look all old, but… it's still your face. It's still _you_," she dared. "Isn't it?"

He looked at her, a hundred thousand shades of longing for old times, for the familiarity, for the feeling of belonging, for their old friendship, shooting through him.

"David?" she dared, "Dave?" Her voice was unstable. "We don't keep secrets, you and me."

He let his eyes dart past her and check the number of people staring at them.

"Don't tell anyone, they'll think you're mad," he whispered conspiratorially, and she grinned suddenly, her eyes filling with water. "You alright, Lena?"

"I thought something bad had happened to you," she admitted, the tears sliding down her cheeks in silence. He tutted, lifting his hand and wiping them away gently.

"As if," he countered. "I'm just sorry for leaving you behind."

"You're leaving again?" she asked, sniffing.

"Well I can't stay here any more," he said apologetically. "I'm too old."

"You were always too old," she smiled knowingly, and he grinned.

"Helena Stafford," he said warmly, "you are the best."

He paused, not knowing what to say or how to say it, and she hugged him again, squeezing as hard as she could.

"Promise me you won't forget me when I'm off to Stafford," she managed against fresh tears, her little nose tickling his ear.

"How could I forget you," he said frankly, "when you pushed me out of that oak tree in Alexandra Park?"

She laughed suddenly, and he squeezed her.

"Are you leaving right now?" she asked timidly.

"Not just yet," he said. "I can stay for a while, if you'd like."

"Don't be daft, you have to explain how this happened to you yet," she said shortly. "And what happened to the man, the alien you met. And then I want you to stay forever."

"I can explain everything. But I can't stay," he said sadly. She bit her lip in anguish. "However," he said grandly, "I _can_ take you out for the day. What do you say, just you and me?" he asked, pulling her away to look at her. "Just like old times."

"Where to?" she asked, wiping her face.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked charmingly. "And I _can_ take you absolutely anywhere, Lena."

She thought for a long moment, then looked at his large brown eyes, watching her exactly the same way they always had.

"I think," she said slowly, smiling at the way his face waited for her response so avidly, "I'd like to go to Blackpool."

"Your wish, Helena Stafford, is my command," he said warmly. "Only… let's _not_ take the train though, eh?"

**THE END**


End file.
